Seven Devils
by potatoes-are-not-for-sex
Summary: Sin is a matter of opinion. SIn is only sin if you're hurting other people. And there are seven of them. Warning: Adult themes! Particularly for those who read my other stories, this is not the same level of content. Also this is not representative of any actions or believes of either Dan or Phil, purely fictional exploration!
1. Lust

**Lust**

_"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes." Marquis de Sade_

He haunts my every waking thought, my sleepless nightmares.

They will, no doubt, call him the victim, and paint me lecherous and ugly, strewn in wide, gauche strokes- as is the fashion. With a body so perverse, so lavished in intention and conviction, he summons my attention mercilessly, and I answer to its call.

The stench of alcohol and arousal shrouds our faces, steaming any vision left, until his lips disappear beneath mine and then they, too, are concealed. His name is futile, as are his gentle protests, softened by the dulling curtain of intoxication. Behind lazy lids, blue eyes stare in almost wonder, curiously terrified, more so than he'd ever wish to admit to. He obeys my gnarled and wretched hands, indulging my beckoning and twisting his cool and guiltless fingers between mine, a marriage of malfeasance.

I am no lover. A lover's hand is gentle and persuasive, slowly ebbing the senses to a point of submission; the pretense of such kindness has no place against the rank alleyway bricks and cobblestoned mattresses.

My lips are hot and relentless against his pulse, nipping the pale skin a little too hard, my thigh between his legs a little to forceful. His cry spills from between those swollen, precious lips, dancing out into the night's air and falling somewhere between pleasure and pain. Desire impales me, it's spike ardent and serpentine behind my ears, hissing hedonistically as I rip off the shirt, ravage the skin, leave my mark along every rib he dares still own.

The whispers in my ears, that's what I'll say, they're the ones who guide my hand, wrapping firm around him, taking what was never mine. This time, his cries do not ignite me so, with fingers firmly wrapped across his lips, I determine my pleasure too urgent to satisfy with puerile play.

The chill is bitingly cold but I am heated by my yearning. One hand holding his up high, the other cinched around his hips, holding him still against the barrage of my hips against his. My fingers melt into his butter skin, clinging to the bone and sinuous ligament which holds a body together, gives it form and function. Too hard, they press almost daring the fragile skin to give way beneath them, to succumb in overwhelming compliance to my every wish.

He cries out again, pathetic and lost between the crumbling bricks, tears staining the red and grubby walls. The fear and pain is not lost on me. This is my domain now, punishing and prophetic to us both, to indulge in the pleasure of mystery, of playthings.

When I leave him there, a shattered mess on the floor, sobbing and pleading, he'll call out to me- my name, twisting through the growing space between us- how does he know my name?

The satisfaction of possession throbbing through every vein, I offer no reply, as my boots crunch noisily into the autumn leaves, as I walk away into the night.

* * *

_ Slightly more adult than my usual stuff! I hope you like it nonetheless, please let me know what you thought! Six more parts to follow, one for each sin. Not sure yet if they will all star Dan and Phil, it's a bit strange to write them in this twisted way but please believe this is all purely imagination, no real characteristics are portrayed!_

_Thanks for reading! _

_xxx panfs_


	2. Gluttony

**Gluttony**

_"Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour." Les Misèrables; Victor Hugo _

I can sense it instant that I see you; I can taste the resignation on my full and swollen lips. It's stench is nauseatingly sweet, a sticky salve that coats my lips and leaves them glistening. It fills the air, so thick and dense even my hands dissolve into nothingness before my eyes.

My fervent fingers fly over the keys with a mind of their own, gliding from one page to the next. I must know more of you, so much more than the contents of those chosen, few words you've already disclosed to me, and to the world. They are pitiful scraps beside a feast. You are a spark that I never doubted, yet never expected to burn so brightly. Never let it be said I dislike surprises.

It's something that I find your false innocence. Forgive me for my candor, because it would not do for you to assume that I criticize or condemn. I say this fully understanding the implications of my presumption- you are not false, nor are you innocent, but what you are is new, different. You're somewhere stuck jauntily between their amalgamations, grinning out at me between the rubble, slightly more tarnished than the others; that's where I find you.

I often wonder what you saw in me. Sometimes the cold gin whispers to me, slithers into my ear where no on else can see it and injects the nightmares deep into the soft skin it finds there, hissing- _flip the tables. _And in those early hours, when the world is waking and I am tumbling off into restless slumber, I tell myself that it was _you _who found _me_, but we both know that cannot be true.

You call to me and ask me for counsel, which I most gladly give. You come to me and inquire for friendship, for shared words and desires- which I most gladly give. You heed my word, my guidance, without a glance reserved for well-deserved fear. I like that about you, and I almost feel obliged to share my gratitude, but there's something stopping me. Every time we speak, with every portion you serve me, my hunger only grows.

My thumbs itch against the keyboard, twitching with a desire to bury deep into your skin, find out if your insides taste as sweet as your simpering smile. Your skin is soft, or it appears soft from what I can see. It would not even deign the use of a sharpened blade. Those primitive weapons are hardly special enough for you- my raw and uncut nail shall suffice.

I do hope you'll scream, but not too much. Did you know that music does, in fact, greatly aid digestion? I'll wager that you didn't, still lost in the screaming world of teen rebellion. Literature suggests that digestion is best served with music which stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system. So if you would, Daniel Howell, scream for me, just a little.

Despite the pixels and the miles between us, I can taste you on my lips. A spilt tongue could dart between them, sample the drops left in your wake. You're most delectable I'm sure, and ever so eager to assent.

Do you know how sweet you taste, little boy?

I'm so very _hungry_.

* * *

_*panfs enters the realm of wow-that-more-than-slightly-creepy* but I hope you like this! Let me know what you thought, which bits you liked or didn't, I'd really love the feedback :) Two down, five more sins to go! Virtual chocolate chip cookies for Malteser24, JessiFlorabella (Florence is the best!), NeverlandNat, GingerTips, Locofoco88 and vogonsoup for their lovely reviews- I know it's different! But I'm so glad you're liking it so far and I hope that continues! :D _

_All my loves_

_xxx panfs_


	3. Wrath

**Wrath (a sonnet)**

_"Come not between the dragon and his wrath."  
King Lear (1.1.123) William Shakespeare_

Between the shy caresses of your hand,

My condemnation runs so cool and slick,

Do you see them? A little longer than

Your middle finger; roped, coiling and thick.

They scar the inner lining of my heart,

Embossed in scrawling letters on my soul,

In blackened ink, like smog too think to part-

Remember; anger always takes it's toll.

The ever-shortened breaths may wrack my lungs

Asphyxiating, blue flames lick my face,

But I have with me still what burnt my tongue-

Those years ago, ire's comforting embrace.

Wrath make me strong, red anger fuel my death,

A soulless soul, alone, it's final breath.

* * *

_Hello my lovelies! Something a little different? Inspired by the bard himself, I do hope you like it! I don't think it's quite as effective a technique as the first two but the next one should be back to the prose style. I was completely taken aback by all the lovely reviews on the last part, I am so glad you liked it! Some virtual hugs for LaReinaGuadalupe (I'm so glad you liked it! Different can be fun to try), JessiFlorabella (Silly fanfiction! Thank you :3), kettlemaniac (I love that interpretation!), DovahFinn (POOBALLS!), NeverlandNat (Coming from you? *blushes* I'm glad you liked!), Ljubica Lukic (I'm so glad! Will try update soon again :D), Malteser24 (I love you! Thank you thank you :3) and vogonsoup (Agh your review is far too kind and I had to hide under my pillow a little, thank you lovely :3) for their thoughts, please let me know what you thought of this one! See you at the next sin :)_

_xxx panfs_


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